


Before I Wake

by JJJunky



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-28
Updated: 2012-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJJunky/pseuds/JJJunky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doyle deals with Bodie's nightmares.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before I Wake

Before I Wake  
By JJJunky

 

As Bed and Breakfasts went, The Laurels wasn't the worst Doyle had ever stayed in, however it wasn't the best either. Considering Mr. and Mrs. McWilliams had just started their new enterprise, Doyle was willing to overlook some of its inadequacies. The most serious was that he would be expected to sleep in a bunk bed. He had been told that it was due to be replaced when they got around to it. Which meant, Doyle interpreted, when they had the money.

The kindly proprietress had barely stepped out of the room when he turned to his new partner and suggested, "I'll flip you for the top."

"No, you won't," Bodie rebuffed, throwing his bag on the upper cot thereby laying claim to it, "it's mine."

One glance at the set features made Doyle swallow his anger. How much longer would he be able to control his temper? A week as Bodie's partner should qualify him for sainthood. Cowley had made a mistake in teaming them, but Doyle was sure the older man was too stubborn to admit it. So, Doyle was forced to live with it - or resign.

Loosening the tie that was part of his disguise, Doyle crossed to the window to review the details of the assignment that had brought them to Trimley St. Mary. From here, they would have a clear view of the entrance to the Whitby home. Their cover as businessmen on a working holiday gave them the excuse to stay in their room for long hours without suspicion. They would spend the next few days photographing visitors to the house next door. Once the identities were established, they would confirm or deny Whitby's possible involvement in the drug ring.

Darkness prevented Doyle from seeing anything. Tired after their long drive, he suggested, "You want to call it a night?" Turning as he spoke, he saw that Bodie had already donned his pajamas and was at the sink washing up. "I guess you do," Doyle muttered, answering his own question.

Doyle quickly unpacked while Bodie climbed up into his bunk and crawled under the coverlet. Finding it a bit warm, Doyle pulled his own blanket off and threw it on the floor at the foot of the bed. By the time he had washed and changed, Bodie was either asleep or doing a good job of pretending to be.

Switching off the lights, Doyle cautiously made his way across the unfamiliar room to his bed. Their assignment was slated to last for three days. He had a feeling this was going to be the longest seventy-two hours of his life.

* * * *

"Don't let them!"

A voice penetrated Doyle's sleep-drugged brain. 

"Please, somebody stop them!"

The fear in the voice brought Doyle to full alertness. Disoriented in the strange environment, he glanced around the dimly lit room.

"Somebody, please help me!"

The words came from directly above him. Scrambling to his feet, Doyle pulled back when he realized the pleas were coming from his sleeping partner. One hand rested on the bed frame as he uneasily wondered what to do. Would it be safer to let Bodie play out his nightmare or to wake him?

"No - o - o - o!"

The scream made Doyle's decision for him. As he put a hand on the solid shoulder, he realized the light cotton pajamas were soaked with sweat. "Bodie, wake up. You're dreaming."

A pounding at the door coincided with his partner's return to awareness. Feeling the muscles beneath his hand relax, Doyle gave a comforting squeeze before rushing to the door and throwing it open.

"Are you all right?" McWilliams growled, obviously not happy at having his sleep disturbed.

"Yes, of course," Doyle reassured the couple. "I'm sorry we woke you." Realizing an explanation would be necessary to placate the angry man, he partially lied, "My friend was in King's Cross Station when the IRA bomb went off. He was almost buried alive. I'm afraid he still has nightmares. We were hoping a change of scene might help him."

"Oh, the poor lad," Mrs. McWilliams cooed.

Praying that they wouldn't take him up on it, Doyle offered, "We can leave in the morning if you'd like."

"That won't be necessary," Mrs. McWilliams reassured, pinching her husband's arm. "You're both welcome to stay as long as you like."

"Thank you." Before the storm clouds he saw forming on the other man's face could result in their eviction, Doyle hastily added, "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, boys," Mrs. McWilliams called through the closing door.

Doyle returned to his original position next to the bed. Laying a hand on the sweat-soaked shoulder, he asked, "Do you want to talk about it?"

The arm under his hand pulled away as Bodie turned over to face the wall. Doyle wasn't offended. It was exactly the reaction he had expected. "One of these days," he pledged, "I won't let you get off so easy."

* * * *

Doyle yawned. This assignment was turning out to be a real bust. Whitby seemed to be as clean as the proverbial snow. Cowley's snitch must have been drunk or out for revenge when he accused the mayor of the small village of drug running. This was one official who appeared to honestly care about his constituents.

In addition to failing to identify the drug runners, the team had endured two nearly sleepless nights. The previous evening had almost been a replay of the night before, except Mr. McWilliams face had been more flushed with anger. If it weren't for the man's kindly wife, Doyle knew they'd have been chucked out on their arses.

"Here's some fresh toast, Mr. Doyle."

His mouth full, Doyle nodded his thanks before taking a slice. Though the hard lumpy bunk beds left much to be desired, the same couldn't be said for his hostess' breakfasts. Her Black Yorkshire pudding was the best he had ever eaten. The only thing to dampen his enthusiasm was his partner's lack of appetite. In the two days they had been in Trimley, Bodie had barely eaten. He picked at his food until it was time to return to their room. Though they hadn't been partners long, Doyle already knew this wasn't normal behavior for the younger man.

"Please, Mr. Bodie, try to eat something," Mrs. McWilliams urged.

"I'm sorry," Bodie apologized, pushing his untouched plate away. "I'm just not hungry."

"You'll make yourself sick."

"I'll be all right," Bodie reassured her, rising to his feet. "I'll see you upstairs, Doyle."

His own appetite disappearing with his partner, Doyle sat back and sipped his tea. He wasn't looking forward to spending another day cooped up in that small room with his silent companion. Every hour with the uncommunicative man was torture. As soon as they returned to London, he would confront Cowley again about reassigning him. It was that or he would have to seriously consider resigning from CI5.

* * * *

Doyle wasn't sure what woke him this time, though he immediately realized it wasn't his partner screaming. He opened his eyes aware something was wrong. Someone was sitting in the chair they had pulled up to the window. His heart fluttered in mild dismay until he recognized Bodie's familiar profile. Though he was tempted to leave the surly man in his own tortured world, Doyle's compassionate soul wouldn't let him. "Having trouble sleeping?" 

Despite his resolve, Doyle's temper started to build when silence greeted his question.

"If I sleep, no one else does," the soft voice finally whispered across the room.

"You gotta sleep sometime."

"I'll sleep when we get back to London."

"You don't have nightmares there?"

"Not every night," Bodie reluctantly admitted.

Now that he had finally gotten his partner talking, Doyle was loath to let it go. "What set you off here?"

Just when it appeared as though Bodie wasn't going to answer, he revealed, "The bunk beds."

"Bunk beds?" Doyle couldn't help repeating, glancing at the innocuous structure.

"Have you ever been in prison, Doyle?"

"I got nicked for breaking a store window when I was fourteen," Doyle related. "I spent two hours in the lockup before my Da bailed me out."

"Two hours," Bodie softly parroted, staring out into the moonlit night. "I spent two months in a jungle prison before I was repatriated."

Intrigued by the glimpse he had been given of this man's mysterious past, Doyle pressed, "Are they as bad as I've heard?"

"Depends on what you've heard," Bodie quietly returned.

"I guess the guards were pretty brutal?"

"They weren't much worse than the inmates. My first night inside, I was sleeping on the bottom bunk. Some of my fellow prisoners decided to have some fun. They tied my arms and legs to the bed above me, then invited anyone who wanted a piece to help themselves."

"Oh, my God!"

"I rubbed the skin off my wrists and ankles trying to get loose."

Though he couldn't see clearly in the half-light, Doyle's eyes rested on his partner's wrists. He could almost see the healed scars on the soft flesh, just as he could feel the raw scars that marred the man's soul. "What did you do after that?"

"After that," Bodie matter-of-factly stated, "I slept on the top bunk."

A simple solution for a hellish situation. Doyle was relieved now that he had not vented his anger after Bodie highhandedly appropriated the top bunk bed. Embarrassment colored his face upon the realization that he had been willing to end their partnership over it. He felt honored that Bodie had trusted him enough to share such a horrible experience with him. Though no words had been exchanged verifying his belief, Doyle knew that he had finally been accepted by his enigmatic partner. He supposed it was an honor? Maybe Cowley hadn't been wrong to make them partners after all?


End file.
